The number of crappy books and shitty movies I will put myself through just so you don’t have to! You should all buy me a trophy or a medal or a new blender.
Once again, the mighty power of the horny middle-aged woman has reared her shiny, dyed head. They could rule the world if they took a break from the bodice-rippers and put down their Chardonnay long enough to join forces.
Several of these horny middle-aged women (herein referred to as HMAW) happen to be friends of mine and wanted me to join them to see Magic Mike. You know, the one about the best friends just working for a living in a skanky male strip club. Kind of like a nasty Laverne and Shirley.
HMAW: “But, Roger Ebert gave it two thumbs up!”
Me: “Didn’t he have a stroke or something?”
HMAW: “And, it’s directed by Steven Soderbergh. He did Traffic and is an Oscar-winner!”
Me: “Does he have kids in private school then? Why would he do a movie about strippers?”
HMAW: “Really, Irene, why wouldn’t you want to watch hot, naked men? The question is what is wrong with you?”
Me: <long pause> “Fair enough. OK.”
Anyhoo, I went because the pull of being snarky about bad entertainment is just too strong.
First thing I noticed was the clientele. It was a sea of mom jeans with a smattering of long-suffering husbands. I have no idea what the argument may have been to get a husband to this movie but I would have liked to have been a fly on that wall. Or, of course, the husbands are gay. That would actually explain everything.
So, let’s start out with the good bits, shall we?
Hot. Naked. Young. Men. Well, most of them were. There was one Mickey Roarke look-alike (not 9 1/2 Weeks Mickey Roarke but The Wrestler Mickey Roarke) that I found disturbing and uncomfortable. And, I think whoever that actor was also felt disturbed and uncomfortable. The rest, however, were young, tight and exceptionally well-oiled.
I did, however, find myself thinking that I’d kill my kids if they ever did something like this. So, while I may not wear mom jeans on the outside, I clearly have some on inside my head.
Ummmm, I think that was it for the good bits.
OK, now for the bad bits.
It was dumb. You could have muted this entire movie and known exactly what was happening and how it would end. In fact, bring your noise cancelling headphones, eat your Dots and just watch.
The story is as old as the bible. Gorgeous single guy with lots of chutzpah who just wants to make it in the world who has multiple sexual encounters with multiple women but really cares and has a heart of gold that gets him in trouble until a nice grounded girl comes along who believes in him and clearly doesn’t seem to care about the multiple venereal diseases that she has now exposed herself to.
Pretty sure that is exactly what happened in the book of Job.
Matthew McConaughey. I know I am inviting the wrath of all women out there with this one. I can feel the collective stink eye right now. Go ahead, start putting your hate mail together, I am expecting it. But, he does nothing for me. And, in this movie, he was so ridiculous and such an asshole that I had a hard time watching him.
If you have other-worldly abs hanging off a douchebag, is it still hot? Probably but I feel compelled to ask the question.
Men gyrating and groin-thrusting at lightning speed. I know what it’s supposed to simulate and I don’t know that it would be all that pleasant. Slow it down, Sparky. I am not a construction site and you are not a jackhammer.
It’s impressive how they don’t appear to throw out their backs when doing this, I totally give them that. And, actually, (SPOILER ALERT!) my favorite part of the movie is when one of them actually does throw out their back.
But, men are not built for this kind of movement. They are stiff and utilitarian and that’s how they should be.
Call me old fashioned but I don’t want my men prancing about with jazz hands.
I’ve been to a male strip club before and I never got dry humped. Should I take that personally? Maybe I’m just all sour grapes on this because I feel slighted. In this movie the women in the crowd were being whipped around like rag dolls, getting felt up and ground upon. My mind ping ponged between “Law suit! Law suit!” and “Purell! Purell!” the entire time.
There you have it, good citizens of the blogosphere. I can’t necessarily say you should not see it. I just feel it is my public duty to make you aware of what you are seeing….which is a whole lot of shiny, pretty men.
And there ain’t nuthin’ bad about that.